On the Fringe
by kerithwyn
Summary: Drabble and short fic collection. Various topics.
1. Olivia and Broyles

**Post "Pilot." Missing scene. Gen.**

* * *

Olivia was still reeling from the events of the last few days, not the least of which was her sudden change of status within the Bureau.

Special Agent-in-Charge Broyles' attitude shift had been abrupt. He'd gone from that sarcastic "honey," which still rankled, to asking-demanding-that she join his hunt for something called the "Pattern." It was a tempting package: a special assignment, corresponding pay bump, top-secret clearance she'd never sought after. Catching bad guys was really all she'd ever wanted. But after what she'd seen...

A week ago, she would have said it was all crazy. Now... Now, if she was going to do this, she needed to know that her boss had her back.

The plethora of forms she had to fill out provided an adequate excuse to stop by his office in person. She dropped the papers on his desk and waited until he raised his head to acknowledge her.

"You seemed to have reservations about my involvement, when we first met," Olivia said, not bothering to sugar-coat the issue. "I wanted to make sure that was no longer the case."

Broyles leaned back in his chair and looked at her, his expression impenetrable. "The job offer wasn't enough?"

"I'd like to know why you changed your mind. Sir."

He watched her for a moment, then nodded once. "Because I didn't want to believe that my friend was capable of what he'd been accused of. But I very quickly saw what you were capable of, your determination and integrity, and it became obvious that one of you was mistaken. Or outright lying." His lips thinned. "And it was equally obvious which one it was.

"Is that all?"

It clearly was enough. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Olivia said, and made her getaway before she provoked another attitude shift.

* * *

For much (much) more, see my page at AO3. Link in my profile.


	2. PeterLincoln, peacoat

**Peter/Lincoln, peacoat(s). Slashy.**

From the mouth of Josh Jackson, re Pelcon:

"Well, you never know! New universe, it's cold in the winter, shit happens, I'm just sayin'. Maybe they put [Lincoln] in a peacoat, and he looks good in a peacoat too!"

Allll righty then.

* * *

It's the smell that finally does him in.

The weather in Boston isn't that different from what Lincoln's used to in Hartford; the difference of a hundred miles still means brutal northeast winters. But somehow the wind here cuts right through him in a way he's having a hard time adjusting to.

He dashes through the Kresge Building with his head down, narrowly dodging students and faculty on the way to the basement lab. It won't be any warmer down there, unless Astrid's already gotten in and turned on the space heaters that Walter always forgets. But at least the basement is far from any outside doors and the wind that feels like it's following him, laying its icy fingers down his neck and laughing as he shudders.

When Lincoln swipes his keycard with shaky fingers and steps inside the lab, the blast of warm air that hits him makes it clear that Astrid, or someone else, has gotten here ahead of him. But he's still shivering and no one is in sight, not even Walter, so he decides that propriety is overrated and reaches for the first warm thing he sees, a piece of heavy fabric on the coat rack, and envelops himself in it.

It's at least a few minutes before he starts to feel his core temperature coming up to resemble something nearly human, and it's only after his fingers have stopped tingling that Lincoln realizes he's wrapped himself up in Peter's peacoat.

And it-the coat *smells.* Not in a bad way, not at all. It's full of the scent of slightly damp wool, and Peter's aftershave, and the wood of the old house he's been living in. There's still no one in the lab, so Lincoln turns his head slightly into the coat's collar and breathes it in, catching the hint of some kind of spice, probably from Peter's last cooking experiment, and faintly the scent of Peter himself where the collar had rubbed against his neck-

The door opens and he's caught, his head jerking up with a start as Peter comes in, balancing a cardboard tray with a couple of capped paper cups from the cafeteria upstairs. "Hey, you're in. I got coffee. -no, don't get up," he adds, his face creasing in a grin. "It's brutal out there today."

Lincoln just nods and sinks back down into the coat, given sanction for his impromptu exploitation of Peter's clothing. He watches as Peter sets the tray down and then wanders back his way.

"Astrid took Walter out for breakfast. You look good in my coat," Peter offers, casually, a faint smirk on his lips.

Maybe that it's that he's warmed up in more ways than one, maybe it's that smirk, or maybe it's the scent of the coat all around him that finally pushes Lincoln to the place he's wanted to go for weeks. "I'd look better out of it," he says, standing, and is both relieved and delighted by Peter's answering laugh.

"I'm still a little chilly, though," Peter says, and steps forward to push his hands into the coat, his arms curling around Lincoln's back, the closeness of his body with the both of them under the coat turning warmth into real heat. "Yeah, that's better," he says, and laughs again as Lincoln pulls him down for a kiss.

* * *

For much (much) more, see my page at AO3. Link in my profile.


	3. Charlie on the plane

**Post 4x17. Gen.**

Fuck you, show. Fuck you forever for making me write this, since we didn't get so much as a line about Charlie's absence.

* * *

It's the worst flight of Charlie's life.

Bad enough that he'd left his new wife back at the beach house, after a screaming knock-down drag-out fight that ended with him storming out without as much as a toothbrush. It's entirely possible he might not even still be married when this is over, but right now, Charlie can't bring himself to care.

His Fringe badge got him a priority flight and an instant upgrade, which at least is keeping him away from most of the civilians. The flight attendants are giving him a wide berth, probably safest for everyone. He knows his face is reflecting a mixture of anger and grief, a black swath of emotion just looking for a target.

Lincoln Lee is dead.

He can't- he can't process it. The words seem impossible, had certainly been incomprehensible the first time and the twelfth time he'd read them off the official notice. It wasn't until he got Liv on the line, heard the shaking in her voice, that Charlie started to acknowledge that *something* had happened. The story he got out of Colonel Broyles sounds ridiculous-shot by a sniper, really, considering everything else Lincoln had survived? It's inconceivable.

The word doesn't mean what he thinks it means, and neither does the world, anymore.

There's a low sound coming from somewhere, a grinding whine that's starting to get on his nerves, but before he can pinpoint it there's a suited woman leaning over to talk to him. "Sir, I'm sorry, but you're- disturbing the other passengers."

Charlie realizes with a start that it's him, the sound is coming from his own throat, a cross between a keen and a growl. "My partner's dead," he grits out, even if he hasn't really absorbed it yet, and the woman blanches and goes away. He vaguely hears her telling the other passengers that he's a Fringe agent who's suffered a loss, and as far as he knows no one says a fucking word after that.

He doesn't care about that, either.

When the plane lands, he's going to have to pull himself together enough to start kicking the asses that need kicking. To find Liv and get on the same page. To get some goddamn facts, because all he's got right now is a gaping hole of illogic where all the certainties of his world used to live.

* * *

For much (much) more, see my page at AO3. Link in my profile.


	4. Bugged

**What really happened on Charlie's honeymoon. Het and slash.**

This is a mean bit of crackfic.

Warning: Character assassination. Fridging for the OT3.

Thanks to samjohnsson for beta, despite his quite appropriate reservations.

Sparked by, of all things, a tumblr post:

Fringeotp said: _What if Mona is not just adorkable as we thought and she really is a psycho killer that murdered Scarlie in the honeymoon, to free the bugs that lived inside him and to study the little creatures?_

And I said: _ahaha._ _But no, see, Lincoln and Liv got Astrid to run a background check on Mona, and they discovered she was a psycho, and they got there just in time and Liv shot Mona and OT3 forever the end._

* * *

It just kept-never mind the pun-*bugging* him.

Yeah, he stood up at Charlie's wedding to Mona Foster, smiling at Charlie's apparent happiness, but Lincoln never felt easy about the whole thing. About *her.* Something about Mona felt weirdly off, like all her smiles were somehow fake. She seemed to adore Charlie almost too much, if such a thing was possible.

Maybe it was the way she managed to work Charlie's arachnid infection into every conversation. Could be she was just creepy like that, given that she played with bugs for a living. But when Lincoln mentioned his uneasiness to Liv, she gave him a startled glance.

"You too?"

So maybe it wasn't just him, because he'd bet on Liv's intuition any day. He just wished he'd brought it up before Charlie left on his honeymoon—but the whole thing had been so fast, from first date to engagement to sudden courthouse wedding, that he'd barely had time to process his disquiet. Mona had been the driving force behind the rush, talking about how some insects lived their whole lives in days or even hours, and with the way their world was running down, how could they afford to do any less?

Now, though...

It might be an abuse of power, but this was about *Charlie.* Lincoln had a quiet word with Farnsworth, barely skirting illegality with his request, and waited on every virtual pin and needle until she came back with her report. There wasn't much there, certainly nothing to raise an actual alarm, but reading between the lines still raised the hackles on the back of his neck.

Liv was skeptical, but willing to listen when he brought her the results. "You had Astrid investigate Mona?"

"Just making sure she's good enough for our Charlie," Lincoln said defensively. "Astrid ran a deep check. More than the usual scan. She found a few weird things."

"Weird" was mostly in Mona's psych reports, comments about how she was more connected with bugs than people. Liv stared at her Padd. "Yeah, there's something missing here. Let me make some calls." Lincoln was happy to let her; she always got better information out of people than he did.

When she talked to Mona's old colleagues, she got the same hesitant, uncomfortable impression from all of them. No one knew anything concrete, but they'd all felt that same odd disconnectedness. When Liv spoke to one of Mona's colleagues at her current entomology lab, the guy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, she hasn't been able to shut up about Francis' bugs. Guess she really wanted to get close up and personal with them."

That took things from "weird" to "creepy." Lincoln and Liv respectively gritted their teeth and took the information to Colonel Broyles, standing at attention while they laid out the admittedly sketchy evidence.

Broyles sighed in that way that meant they were stepping on his last nerve, eyeing them narrowly. "24 hours. And if you disrupt Agent Francis' honeymoon without reason, I expect you to apologize."

They took the quick shuttle down to Fiji. Lincoln fidgeted the whole way, starting to have second thoughts. "Maybe we should call?"

Liv shook her head. "Nah. If she's really a nutjob, we shouldn't give her any warning."

A quick talk with the island authorities and a flash of their badges, and they were directed to a cabana on an isolated beach. Mona might be crazy, but she had good taste, Lincoln mused. Then again, she had married Charlie.

Liv bumped his shoulder. "So how do you want to play this?"

"Recon mode."

"Fine," Liv said, "but if we walk in on them fucking, you're doing all the talking."

"Deal." Lincoln tried the door and wasn't surprised to find it locked; Charlie was paranoid about that kind of thing, New Jersey cop instincts at work. The place was old fashioned enough that it had an old-style lock, so Lincoln stood aside to give Liv room to use her picks. She got the door unlocked with a minimum of effort and they both held still for a moment, waiting to hear any sound from inside.

After a moment, Lincoln turned the handle and stepped inside in one motion to find an empty foyer. The living room and kitchen beyond were likewise deserted, but there was a staircase on the far wall. Lincoln had just put his foot on the first step when they heard a groan from upstairs.

Liv rolled her eyes, but Lincoln frowned-that hadn't sounded like a sexytime sound to him. They moved quietly but swiftly, and halfway up the stairs he heard another groan and Mona's voice.

"Sorry sweetie, I can't give you any more morphine. I don't know what it'll do to the babies. Look at them, they're growing so fast!"

Olivia and Lincoln both shuddered, but held position. Liv raised her gun and after a moment, they both crept the rest of the way up the stairs.

Lincoln took a breath and peered around the corner for a quick glance. Charlie was on the bed, lying on his back, his face twisted in pain and a rag stuffed in his mouth. Mona was kneeling next to him, crooning softly under her breath.

He wanted to charge in to the rescue, but instead Lincoln stepped back to let Liv do her thing. She breathed out, narrowed her eyes, and took a smooth step into the room. Lincoln followed, but even as he entered, it was over: there was a single shot, and then Mona fell over sideways, screaming, blood spurting from her shoulder.

"Zip it. Just a flesh wound. You'll live." Liv bolted across the room to the bed, Lincoln on her heels. They both looked down at Charlie, horrified, seeing the bugs moving uncontrolled under his skin. Liv pulled the rag away from Charlie's mouth while Lincoln looked around frantically for the familiar syringes.

"Cabinet," Charlie croaked, and Lincoln dived for it while Liv restrained Mona's hands with a twist-tie, roughly bound her shoulder, and shoved her off the bed.

Lincoln found the injectors and grabbed them, rushing back to the bed. Charlie tried to reach for them but Lincoln brushed his hand away, lining one up with a prominent vein on Charlie's arm and pushing the button. "One enough, or do you need-" he started, but the squirming under Charlie's skin was already beginning to subside.

"Thanks," Charlie gasped. "How did-"

"We know you married a psycho?" Liv said dryly. "Lincoln got jealous and did a background check."

"Hey," Lincoln started to protest, and then shrugged. It was true, after all. "And Liv insisted we drop in unannounced. Just in case."

"Glad you did," Charlie said, pushing himself up "That bitch-" he cut himself off. "Never mind. She doesn't matter anymore."

Liv leaned into his embrace, smiling, and after a second Charlie cocked an eyebrow at Lincoln and waved him in with his free hand. Lincoln grinned and put his arms around them both. "You guys," Charlie started, and Lincoln realized he was shaking.

"No, hey, you're okay now," Liv said, but Charlie shook his head.

"No, I need to say this. Even before she went all bug-fuck crazy," Charlie snorted, the sound half a sob, "it wasn't working." His arms tightened around them both. "I missed you."

From the floor Mona started to laugh; they all ignored her.

"Shut up." Charlie's head came up in surprise and Lincoln took advantage of the momentary confusion to kiss him. Charlie kissed back eagerly, his body starting to relax. Lincoln pulled back to look at him. "Can't believe it took you getting married to realize that."

"Seriously." Liv tilted Charlie's chin so she could claim her own kiss. When she drew back, they were both smiling. "But I am not sleeping with a married man, so let's call someone to take out the trash, and then work on getting this farce annulled."

"Y- yeah." Charlie looked at them both. " You know I love you, right?"

"'Course," Liv said easily, though Lincoln could hear the catch in her throat. "We're a team. Lincoln's the smart one, I'm the pretty one."

"And you're the one who holds us all together," Lincoln finished, then turned to Liv with a mock scowl. "But I thought iI/i was the pretty one."

"You're both pretty," Charlie said, laughing. "And I want a do-over honeymoon with both of you. But honestly, I fucking hate the beach. Too many damn crawly things in the sand."

* * *

Sorry, Mona. I'm sure you're a perfectly nice bug lady. But I wrote this in a burst after 4x17, when I was feeling fragile and needed an OT3 fix. Apologies to her fans.

For much (much) more, see my page at AO3. Link in my profile.


	5. One Small Fraction of the Main Attract

**alt-Lincoln/alt-Charlie. Slashy.**

One Small Fraction (of the Main Attraction)

Fandom: Fringe

Characters: Alternate Charlie Francis/Alternate Lincoln Lee

Rating: PG-13

Wordcount: ~800

Summary: Lincoln's got an itch he can't scratch. Charlie's there for him.

Notes: Set beginning of season 3, pre-"Olivia."

Written for the _Fringe_ kinkmeme using the following prompt:

OverThere! Charlie/Lincoln; hurt-comfort

When Lincoln has healed a bit from being burned, they start letting him out of the nanite chamber for short periods of time. (For physical therapy, or whatever reason you want.) After being in the pod he's starved for comfort and touch. Lincoln's still weak and hurting, but Charlie does his best.

* * *

Lincoln swore, his face twisting. "Dammit, this itches."

"Don't-"

"Yeah, I know. 'Don't scratch.' That's all Melissa can say. Feels like bugs-" he paused, glancing at Charlie with a look caught half between empathy and guilt. "Bugs under my skin. Is that what it's been like for you?"

"It's not so bad," Charlie hedged, but Lincoln had him pinned with his gaze. "Yeah, kinda."

"Shit. I'm sorry I teased you, then." Lincoln winced, his fingers twitching as he fought the impulse to scratch.

Charlie knew how he felt, both from his own experience and now, wanting to reach out and not sure how he could without hurting Lincoln any further. It still hurt *him* to see Lincoln like this, skin all twisted and raw. The nanite treatments had saved his life and put him on a fast track to recovery, but Charlie knew some scars would linger. Mostly the ones you couldn't see. "Can they give you something for that?"

"I'm as doped up as I can be." Lincoln waved to the table next to the burn recovery bed. The mattress looked like an upside-down egg carton, but Charlie was too glad to see Lincoln out of the nanite chamber to tease. "There's some lotion that kind of helps, but I can't reach everywhere and I've already bugged-sorry-the nurses too much today."

"I can do that."

Lincoln smirked. "I know, you've been suffering, haven't had me around to molest."

"Someone's got a high opinion of himself," Charlie said into the air, but it was more true than not. It's been *rough,* these two months without both his partners around. They said Liv was getting better but he still wasn't allowed to visit whatever secret nuthatch they had her stashed away in, and this was the first time Lincoln had been out of the chamber for more than a couple of minutes. He'd been missing them for reasons other than his cold bed. "You want me to, or not?"

"Yes, please." Lincoln was uncharacteristically quiet as Charlie rounded the bed and glanced at the pile of tubes and bottles. "That one with the silver stripe."

Charlie rubbed a little of the clear stuff between his fingers, then chuckled. "You want me to rub you down with lube? Kinky."

"I just want-" Lincoln bit at his lip, flinched, and looked away.

"Linc?"

Lincoln's voice was low. "Melissa, the other nurses, they're all great. But they don't- I mean, they touch me for therapy and stuff, but-"

"Hey. Hey. I got you." Lincoln's face when Charlie touched him was...ecstatic. Far more than a gentle hand on his arm warranted. "Easy there, soldier."

"Sir, yes, sir," Lincoln murmured, and giggled faintly.

Doped up, Charlie remembered. "Well, you're a ball of fun. See if you can bring some of those good drugs home with you when they let you out."

"My sparkling personality isn't enough?" Lincoln started to tug at his loose johnny gown. "Seriously, Charlie, my back really itches. Would you?"

"'Course." He had to keep himself from taking a sharp breath when he moved around and saw Lincoln's back. Broad swaths of skin were still shiny and painful-looking.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You can't."

He laid his hand flat on Lincoln's back as lightly as he could, and Lincoln hissed. "Sorry!"

"No, no, it's- it's sensitive. But don't stop." Lincoln took a deep breath. "So tell me about the yahoos they've got you partnered with?"

"'Working with' just for now," Charlie corrected, because he already had two partners that he was going to get back. "Chiang and Fitzgerald. And they're good agents."

Lincoln nodded and Charlie took that as his signal to continue. He kept it light, telling Lincoln about some of the easier cases they'd been working, paying more attention to the shift of Lincoln's muscles under his hands. The touches hurt, he could tell from Lincoln's slow breaths and muted flinches. But Charlie knew from his own experiences that it was a good hurt. The hurt meant you were alive and that someone you- someone you cared about still wanted to touch you.

"Front too?"

"You can reach that yourself," Charlie noted, but he was already moving around to sit on the edge of the bed facing Lincoln.

"Yeah, but it feels better when you do it," Lincoln murmured, and the comment didn't require answer.

The johnny was pooled around Lincoln's lap by the time Charlie was done. "Think they'd kick me out if I went any lower. Set off all your monitors or something."

Lincoln flashed a wicked grin, so familiar Charlie almost could forget the burns. "Wish I could really get you in here with me."

"Plenty of time for that when you're better," Charlie promised him, and Lincoln's answering smile would carry him until then.

* * *

Title from "Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and I'M SORRY. But! "I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance" / "I'll oil you up and rub you down." Could not resist.

For much (much) more, see my page at AO3. Link in my profile.


End file.
